We would love you, excellence and purging.
Remarkable awareness, we admire you.
Not many heard it: The Polished Scripts.
I never gave up on you. I believe in your legacy.
So unfastened, so extreme.
Deep in those hills, across from a pond, stands a scarecrow.
To attend your existential, to know your condition.
Wasn’t for saviors, most religious, overflowing with beauty.
Such haunting, mind harassment.
I am your audience, rushing to applaud you.
We compare polemics. We smile, not much laughing.
We heard the news; we came to support you.
So knotted, trying harder.
Someone should’ve spoke kindly.
